


Get There Faster

by hesychasm (Jintian)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-08-09
Updated: 2004-08-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 20:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/323925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jintian/pseuds/hesychasm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Harry's sixteenth birthday Dumbledore finally let him go to the Burrow.  Post-Book 5.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get There Faster

  
On Harry's sixteenth birthday Dumbledore finally let him go to the Burrow.

Mrs. Weasley had been agitating for it almost since the moment they all disembarked at King's Cross, and every week Pigwidgeon would fireball through Harry's window with a letter from Ron. "Dumbledore reckons enough time hasn't passed yet..." "Dumbledore told Mum he'll let us know when..."

Harry had been of half a mind to demand Dumbledore send him to Grimmauld Place for the rest of the summer. But then he thought about the house at number twelve, really _thought_ about it, the shadowy rooms and halls twisted in on themselves like an intestinal coil, dark magic lurking in every harmless-looking object, that damned portrait of Mrs. Black waiting to snap and scream at the slightest provocation.

He thought of spending the rest of the summer there, in that house that was so unlike Sirius and yet would remind him of Sirius at every turn, and kept his mouth shut.

A few members of the Order came to get him from the Dursleys' on the first of August at half past noon. He stepped out into the sunshine with them, not even bothering to say goodbye to Vernon and Petunia and Dudley where they stood peeking through the front window. Remus helped him load his trunk and Hedwig's cage into the Ministry car -- Fudge had proven remarkably pliant since the Department of Mysteries attack, Remus explained -- and Harry sat obediently in the back seat as the car pulled away.

"Happy Birthday, Harry," Remus said quietly beside him. "Belatedly, anyway."

"Thanks," Harry said. He watched Privet Drive roll out past them, each house identically manufactured and identically ugly.

"I got you this," Remus said. He pushed a flat package wrapped in brown paper across the seat. "I know Dumbledore arranged it so that you could use your wand over the summer in case anything happened -- not that he thought it would, mind. But I thought, since you have that privilege, this might be of some use to you."

Harry removed the paper. It was a book. " _Self-Defensive Spellwork_ ," Harry read aloud. "Thanks." He glanced up and met Remus' eyes, then turned to look out the window again. "This should come in quite handy."

He didn't say that he'd read and used the book already. It had been one of the titles the Room of Requirement had conjured up when they started the DA. By the end of the year the copy had been well worn and dog-eared, the pages smudged from many sets of fingers after being passed around amongst the students.

Of course, he thought, it had turned out to be useless in the end.

He felt a wave of sick and paralyzing despair wash over him. It wasn't a new occurrence -- the summer had been full of such episodes already. Each time he could hear a man laughing, _Sirius_ laughing at Bellatrix Lestrange just before he had fallen through the veil. The inside of the car felt suddenly hot and dark and close, and he had to close his eyes and concentrate in order to breathe. He tried to sit very still so that Remus wouldn't be able to tell.

"Harry," Remus said, his voice seeming to come from miles away. "You know that if you ever want to talk...."

Harry clenched his right hand into a fist, hard.

"This loss," Remus went on, "isn't yours alone. You needn't bear it alone."

Quidditch, Harry thought fiercely. Think about Quidditch. Dragonfly formation: Beaters as wings, Chasers lined up along the middle, Quaffle shooting down the spine. Hummingbird: attack from above. Four-square: cover the cardinal directions.

"Harry?"

He willed Remus to be quiet. Willed him to shut up. Willed him not to say Si--

"All right. I can't make you share what's on your mind. It seems every time I see you, you get more and more like --"

Harry stiffened.

But Remus stopped. When he spoke again, his voice was as mild as it had ever been. "I just hope you don't refuse all the help that's offered to you."

Harry kept his fist clenched in case there was more, but thankfully, Remus was silent for the rest of the ride.

*

They arrived at the Burrow late in the afternoon, when the sunlight was just beginning to yellow and soften. Harry climbed out of the car into the lush, overgrown grass where tiny bluebottle flies chased each other about. Together he and Remus headed toward the house.

They emerged into the chaotic yard, the entirety of that odd, bulky, haphazard building looming over them in a way that completely defied the laws of physics. It was a house that was practically alive, not just because of its history and occupants, but all by itself -- because it was magical and warm and the exact picture Harry would have seen in his mind if someone had ever asked him why he preferred the wizarding world over the Muggle world. He felt his heart contract at the sight of it.

Ron was already standing in the kitchen doorway. He came forward to greet them, lanky and somehow that much taller than a month before, his hands shoved in his pockets. His freckles had faded somewhat into sunburn, just beginning to brown.

"Harry," he said.

Remus cleared his throat. "I'll just go in and have a word with your parents." He headed inside.

Ron glanced at the other wizards waiting beside the car. Leaning closer, he asked, "Are you all right?"

"Fine." Harry forced a smile. "How's your summer been?"

Ron shrugged. "Nothing like last. Mum's been keeping any Order business away from us, and without Fred and George it's hard to get past her."

Harry supposed he should have pressed Remus for more news, but he couldn't make himself sorry he hadn't. "We'll find out what's going on soon enough," he said, pretending not to see Ron's confused glance.

Together they took his trunk inside and up the rickety, winding stair. Ron paused at the first landing. "Mum thought you could have Percy's room -- it's pretty well clear of his things now. But I thought maybe --"

Harry looked at him. "I'd rather be in yours."

Grinning, Ron set down his end of the trunk and stepped forward.

Harry let himself be pushed backward by the kiss, until he hit the wall with a gentle thump. He opened his mouth and tilted his head back, trying to taste all of Ron's grin, sweeping his hands beneath the edge of Ron's shirt to touch his smooth, angular hips.

Ron sighed and thrust against him, already half-hard. "Mmm --"

"Ron! Harry!" came Mrs. Weasley's voice from downstairs. "The others are about to leave."

Harry slipped out of Ron's arms. "We'd better go say goodbye."

In the yard Remus drew him aside for some last words.

Harry glanced away from the pale scars slashing Remus' face. "Thanks for everything," he said. "The book, everything."

"If you need me, all you have to do is owl."

"I will. If I need you." His throat clenched there, and he swallowed past it.

Remus peered into his face for a moment longer, his grip on Harry's shoulder strong and warm. But Harry simply stood there, waiting him out. "We shouldn't have left you alone," Remus said. He shook his head, let go of Harry and got into the car

Harry was already inside before the car had pulled away.

*

It was a quiet supper table that night. Ron and Ginny were the only Weasley children left at the Burrow, Fred and George having moved permanently to quarters above their store in Diagon Alley. Arthur and Molly Weasley didn't attempt to draw Harry into conversation -- silently, he thanked Remus for that at least -- but the talk over the meal was relatively subdued, and his non-participation was all the more obvious. Harry could feel each of the Weasleys sneaking glances at him, exchanging looks amongst themselves across the table.

At the end of the supper Mrs. Weasley brought out a fluffy, sugary cake for his birthday, each candle sparking red and gold fireworks. It tasted like sand in Harry's mouth, but he smiled and thanked each of them in turn.

"Don't worry about those," Mrs. Weasley said, when Harry made to pick up the dishes after the meal. "You look tired, dear. Why don't you go on up to bed?"

He thought the kindness in her eyes was as infuriating as Remus' had been. Nodding, he managed a "Thanks" and headed upstairs.

He threw himself down on Ron's bed, blinking up at the ceiling with dry, burning eyes. Night noises drifted through the open window: insects chirping, the bushes rustling and chuckling with garden gnomes. A clank went off above him as the ghoul in the attic rattled a pipe.

It was so much more _alive_ than Privet Drive, so much less lonely and angry and unfeeling. But he had to restrain himself from screaming out, from shouting it all into silence.

His thoughts, like they did every night when he had nothing left to do but sleep, turned to Sirius, to those last few moments of quickness and violence before the end, the empty rage that had come after. He lay still, straining to hear past the night noises, feeling his whole body reach and ache toward...somewhere. Somewhere he knew Sirius was, just waiting to be brought back.

Sirius isn't waiting, a voice inside him whispered. Sirius is dead because of you.

He squeezed his eyes shut, pulled one of Ron's pillows over his face, and bellowed into it.

"Harry?" he heard. "Are you asleep?"

Ron was standing in the doorway, outlined by the soft light in the hall. Harry thrust the pillow aside. "I'm awake."

"Do you _want_ to sleep?"

"No." Harry reached out his hand, and Ron shut the door behind him and came forward into the room. The mattress tilted under his weight. Ron shifted until he lay mostly on top of Harry, chests and hips pressed together, legs tangled. "Just --" Harry said, before they went any further, "-- I don't want to talk."

Ron nodded in the darkness, and bent his head to kiss Harry. "All right," he said. "We won't."

Harry let Ron unbutton his trousers, pull them off Harry's hips and legs, throw them to the floor. Ron pushed Harry's shirt up past his nipples, the warm summer air touching them like a kiss before Ron's thumbs swept over them, followed by Ron's mouth. Blood racing, Harry shut his eyes finally and let himself feel, let Ron chase his godfather back into the darkness, arching his back as Ron's large hand wrapped around his dick with a familiar squeeze.

Ron tongued Harry's hipbone, dragging inward along the sensitive join of his thigh. Harry gasped, half-tickled, half-excited. Ron had never put his mouth here before, it had always just been hands, and rubbing against each other, and --

Ron licked the head of his cock, and Harry gasped again. "Fuck!"

"Happy Birthday, Harry," Ron whispered. His mouth was hot and wet, slipping down around Harry, awkward at first, unsure, and then suddenly tightening as Ron tried sucking. Harry's hips lifted off the bed as a bolt of pleasure shot straight through his dick.

"Unh," Harry grunted. His hands scrabbled at the worn bedspread.

Ron bobbed his head up and down, his lips and tongue caressing the crown of Harry's cock. He was making noises deep in his throat, almost like moans, and his breath left his nostrils in hot puffs that washed over Harry's skin. Each one seemed to push Harry higher and higher -- the heat in his groin tightened and he thrust into Ron's mouth uncontrollably, almost throwing him off. Ron wrapped one hot hand around the base of Harry's dick and another on his hip to hold him in place, and that was enough to send Harry over the edge.

" _Fuck_ ," he muttered again, as the orgasm pushed through him.

Ron swallowed and lifted his head, so that Harry's dick was exposed to the air all wet and half-erect still, then Ron was lying on top of him again, covering him. He was still fully clothed, hard inside his trousers.

"Well, that was different," Ron said.

"Best birthday present yet," Harry agreed.

He reached down between them and unfastened Ron's belt, button and zipper, sliding his hand in where Ron was warm and erect. Ron obliged him by lifting up and giving Harry room to maneuver, and soon he was panting hot and erratic in Harry's ear, shuddering as he finished.

"Merlin," Ron gulped. " _So_ much better when it's not me doing it."

Harry allowed himself a small smile in the darkness. It was the first real smile he'd felt all summer. He pressed his forehead into Ron's neck, both of them slightly damp from perspiration. "Thanks," he whispered, and was surprised at the prick of tears in his eyes.

"Sure," Ron whispered back. True to his promise, he didn't try to talk. He didn't say anything, didn't startle when Harry drew in a shivering, hitching breath, didn't do anything except hold him and breathe gently, quietly, until Harry fell asleep.

*

After breakfast Harry sat out in the garden with the book Remus had given him, watching Ron and Ginny play at Quidditch on their brooms.

It was still early enough for dew to dust every surface with a silvery sheen, but the humidity softened the brand new pages of the book, so that they gave back a certain texture to his fingers as he flipped through. He had brought his wand out as well, tucked in his back pocket until he remembered Moody's warnings and laid it on a flagstone nearby.

Occasionally Ron dipped low on his broom, and Harry knew it was so Ron could check on him. He supposed he wouldn't be able to get away from it. That was the price he had to pay for being out of Privet Drive, for being where people knew and cared about what Harry Potter went through -- or thought they did -- where he could escape those concerns each night with Ron.

Harry bent his head to the book.

It was indeed the same as the one the DA had nicked from the Room of Requirement. Harry knew all of the spells: the various ways to shield oneself, to disarm or immobilize one's opponent. He flipped to the back and studied the moving figurines. The section on offensive magic here was quite slim -- it was, after all, a manual on self-defense.

He closed his eyes. Shouts and crashes resounded through his head. He was in the Department of Mysteries again, battling for his life and his friends' lives, watching Sirius fall, watching him disappear through the veil. He saw himself running through the various rooms casting curses at Death Eaters, right and left.

Run faster, you stupid bastard, he thought. Next time, get there faster.

He opened his eyes, before his thoughts could cycle back to the beginning and Sirius' fall again.

On his lap, _Self-Defensive Spells_ was open to the chapter on Unforgivable Curses. "Imperius," it read, "may be successfully resisted, and Cruciatus successfully blocked by the most skilled of wizards, but for the Killing Curse there is no defense."

He heard Bellatrix Lestrange taunting him: "Never used an Unforgivable Curse before, have you, boy? You need to _mean_ them, Potter! You need to really cause pain -- to enjoy it -- righteous anger won't hurt me for long --"

Harry caught sight of a beetle struggling through the soft soil of the garden. The morning sun turned its hard jeweled back into iridescent purple and green as it pulled itself up and over tiny hills in the dirt. His hand moved of its own accord, reaching down to pick up his wand, aiming it, tracking the progress of the insect with its tip.

" _Imperio_!" he whispered.

The beetle stopped immediately. Harry pictured it flipping over, waving its six legs in the air. Almost before he had fully formed the thought, the beetle was on its back, doing exactly that.

He remembered Moody's -- no, Barty Crouch Jr.'s -- lesson on the Unforgivable Curses with the spiders. Fascinated, he made the beetle roll over and over in the dirt, until it bumped against the toe of his shoe.

 _You need to really cause pain -- to enjoy it_.

Harry raised his wand again. " _Crucio_!"

The beetle... _convulsed_. It was the only word Harry could think of for it. The shiny exoskeleton seemed to shiver with pain. The dirt beneath the beetle shifted and slid as its legs shook and scrabbled.

 _You need to_ mean _them, Potter!_

He felt something stir inside him, some of that same empty rage he'd been carrying around all summer. He felt his face flush red, felt a bit lightheaded, and his stomach roiled painfully.

His lips formed the words once, silently. His throat made the sounds the second time: " _Avada kedavra_!"

Green light flashed from Harry's wand, blinding in the morning sunlight. He heard the telltale rushing sound, and when he looked down at the beetle again it lay unmoving in the dirt.

Guiltily, Harry looked up and saw Ron and Ginny still swooping through the sky on their brooms. Neither of them seemed to be paying attention to him now. Through the open kitchen window he heard Mrs. Weasley humming as water splashed into the sink.

The rest of the garden was hushed and still, as if in shock about what he had done.

Harry stood and kicked the beetle into the grass. He shut the book and tucked it under his arm, pocketed his wand and stumbled back into the cool dimness of the Burrow.

"Harry, dear, would lamb for supper tonight be all right?" he heard Mrs. Weasley ask, but he was already running up the stairs, into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him, just making it to the toilet in time to lose his breakfast.

When he was finished, he stood and washed his face, staring into his wide, frightened eyes in the mirror. For once it had nothing smart to say to him.

*

That night, as Ron's lips and hands pushed him to climax, he thought of Bellatrix laughing at him, jeering at him, her mouth cruel and twisted with contempt. Just at the moment of orgasm, he saw Sirius falling through the veil again, and his own pleasure was a hard jerking jolt, as if Harry had landed wherever it was on the other side of the door.

He lay awake, long after Ron had begun to snore softly beside him. He pictured himself casting the Cruciatus Curse on Bellatrix in the Ministry of Magic. He heard her screaming. Over and over again he cast the curse, as she rolled on the floor like the beetle in the garden, tearing with her fingernails at her own flesh to rip out the pain. He saw her staring up at him with horrified eyes, her face twisted in fear this time, all contempt gone.

 _Crucio! Crucio!_

Again and again, making it last each time, _meaning_ it each time, until finally the laughter in his head stopped in a green flash of light and a noise of power rushing out to knock the life from her.

When he was finally able to sleep, he dreamed that he was standing over her broken, stiffened body. Before them was the ancient door. He waited patiently, waited for Sirius to come falling out of it in reverse, laughing triumphantly, but the only thing that greeted him was silence.

*

"Ginny and I are going to take a swim in the pond." Ron took a bite out of his turkey sandwich. After a few chews, he said, "If you didn't bring your swimming trunks, we've got plenty of old pairs."

"That's incredibly disgusting," Ginny said, reaching over to cover Ron's mouth with her hand. "Swallow first!"

Ron rolled his eyes at Harry. "So how about it, mate?"

"I think I'll sit this one out," Harry said. "I'm sort of tired."

Ginny perked up at that. "Ron's snoring keeping you up? You know you can have Percy's room any time."

Ron snickered into his sandwich. Underneath the table he caressed Harry's calf with a long bare toe.

"Anyway," Harry said, "I want to do a little studying."

"Blimey, what for?" Ron choked on his next bite. "Hermione's _miles_ from here."

"I might come down later and watch you, all right?" Harry offered. "I just feel like staying close to home right now."

Ron nodded slowly, and suddenly Harry couldn't meet his eyes. "How about Quidditch later?"

"Sure," Harry said. "I'll probably feel better after a nap anyway."

He stood in the garden after lunch, watching them traipse off into the small weeded area at the bottom where the pond lay hidden. Ron turned at the last minute, his ginger hair flashing above his naked shoulders, and called out, "You really won't come?" He checked to make sure Ginny wasn't looking, and gave Harry a leer that made Harry's blood do a slow thump.

"Go on, you poof," Harry called back, and Ron chuckled and dove into the pond.

Alone, Harry held very still, listening to the garden gnomes conspiring in the bushes. The beat of his blood increased and quickened until it seemed he was nothing but a great thundering nervous heart. He reached into the bottom of a bush, caught a pair of stubby legs, and pulled.

"Gerroff!" the gnome screeched.

Glancing quickly at the pond, where splashing and laughing were already in full swing, Harry dropped the gnome to the ground. Immediately it scrambled to its feet and ran for the bushes.

Harry whipped out his wand, just before the gnome could disappear. " _Imperio_!"

He made it turn somersaults for a few moments, its horny little feet flashing with each roll. He made it walk backwards, stand on its head, stick out its small grubby little tongue.

Then he made it stand upright and face him again. The potato-shaped head was odd and alien, almost comic, but there were eyes and a nose and a mouth, and Harry forced himself to look straight at them.

The tiny face crumpled when he cast the Cruciatus Curse. Harry willed the gnome to keep silent and remain standing. He didn't think he could bear watching it roll on the ground in pain just yet.

He counted to ten, slowly and deliberately, studying carefully the twisted lines of the gnome's face. Finally he let it go. It fell to the ground and lay shuddering for a moment, before pulling up to crawl on its hands and knees to the bush, whimpering and crooning sadly.

This time Harry didn't even make it inside. He leaned over and retched straight into Mrs. Weasley's flowerbeds.

*

He flew with Ron that night, finally breaking off and outstripping him as the sun set over the Burrow. Ron called his name, but Harry didn't turn around. The waning moon became brighter and brighter as he rose in altitude. The air, cooled from its daytime temperatures, whistled into his clothes, touched his body, lifted his hair and slipped down his throat while he sobbed open-mouthed, silent.

When he touched down again, Ron was waiting for him. Harry allowed himself to be gathered up in Ron's over-tall embrace, not even caring if any of the other Weasleys could see them from the windows. He shivered, wrapping his own arms around Ron's skinny torso, trying to get warm.

"Harry, what --" Ron said, but Harry shook his head.

"I don't want to talk." He drew Ron through the garden, past the quiet bushes, to the edge of the pond where they wouldn't be visible from the house. He pushed Ron's baggy trousers down over his hips, knelt in the wet mud, and took him into his mouth.

Salty, fragrant, immediately awake. Ron groaned and clutched the back of Harry's head, his fingers twining through Harry's hair. "Harder," he said, and "Use your hands," and "Please." He didn't say anything else, and when he came it was with a wordless cry that he muffled by pressing his face into the crook of his elbow.

Later they swam naked in the pond. Harry pulled Ron close, propping himself on Ron's body with arms and legs, and kissed him deeply as the half-moon tilted overhead.

*

By the middle of August most of the garden gnomes had disappeared. Mrs. Weasley even remarked on it, but she was not at the Burrow much anymore, nor Mr. Weasley for that matter. The both of them were off on more and more business for the Order as the fall term at Hogwarts approached, and Harry and Ron and Ginny were increasingly left behind on their own.

Despite the mass exodus of gnomes, there were a few left in the deepest holes under the bushes, the ones too stupid to notice that their kin had departed for safer pastures. Harry dragged one out kicking and squealing, clocked it with an Imperius Curse and a Cruciatus in quick succession, until it lay writhing on the ground.

He waited for the lurching in his stomach to settle. _Simulate battle situations during practice sessions_ , the self-defense book had read. _Most confrontations are finished in a few seconds, not leaving much time for thought or planning_. Harry shot off another round of both curses, faked a defense against a pretend attacker from his left, wheeled quickly and cast the Killing Curse before he could hesitate, then put up a block against an imaginary opponent on the right.

When he was finished, he went over to the gnome where it lay dead and still in the dirt. The bushes rustled. He looked up and saw the dirty faces of the remaining gnomes watching what he was doing.

"Go away," he told them fiercely. "Get out of here if you know what's good for you."

They bared their teeth at him and didn't leave until he brandished his wand.

He picked up the gnome, forcing himself to get used to the feel of it lying limp and cold in his hands, and went to find a shovel.

*

"Hermione wants to know why you haven't written her," Ron said.

"I've written her plenty." Harry pulled his shirt off the rest of the way, tossing it into the pile of dirty clothes in the corner.

"She says not since the beginning of the summer."

"Not everyone can write a tome a week the way she does."

"Harry, listen --"

"Why do you care, anyway?" Harry sent his trousers to join his shirt and stood naked, leaning on Ron's bedpost to look down on Ron where he sat propped against the headboard.

"Because she's my _friend_ , and yours as well --"

"Yeah? Have you told her we've been shagging since winter hols?"

Ron flushed, deep red under his late summer tan the way only a redhead could. "We both agreed --"

"Don't worry about Hermione. I'll apologize when school starts. She'll be angry for a while but she'll get over it. She knows there are more important things."

"Like what?" Ron straightened, his eyes suddenly sharp and piercing. "What have you been studying, Harry, all by yourself?"

In answer, Harry reached down and began to stroke himself. Ron's gaze dropped to watch what he was doing, his eyes widening as Harry grew erect. "Do you like this?" Harry asked. "Watching me do this?" A thrill zipped down his limbs as Ron swallowed and nodded.

Ron dragged his eyes back up to Harry's. "Will you at least write to tell Hermione you're okay? I said I'd ask you."

"Making promises about me?" Harry's words were breathy and thin. "Maybe I will. Maybe, if you come here...."

"What for?" Ron's voice cracked. He got up anyway, the front of his pants tented with his own erection.

Harry motioned him so that he stood behind Harry, so that Ron's crotch met Harry's arse as Harry pushed it back against him. A hiss escaped Ron's lips, dusting Harry's spine. "Touch me," Harry whispered. "Ron, touch me."

He reached round and took Ron's hand, drawing him closer so that the full length of him was pressed against Harry, the hardness of his cock bumping rudely between Harry's cheeks. Ron's hand encircled Harry in front, pumping him in that familiar, wonderful way. Harry gripped the bedpost tightly, his lips pulling back from his teeth.

"Take off your clothes," he ordered. "One-handed. Don't stop touching me."

Ron obeyed, never slacking his rhythm. Harry felt the whisper of his trousers down the backs of his legs, and soon Ron's naked cock pressed insistently between them. "I --" Ron said, "I don't --"

"It's okay," Harry said. He turned around, knelt and engulfed Ron's cock in his mouth. Over his head Ron leaned forward to grip the bedpost. Harry let his saliva flow freely, coating Ron with lubrication, and just as Ron began to thrust into his mouth he stood again, turned around, and arched his back so that his arse jutted out. "Go on."

Ron drew in a shuddering breath. His fingers fumbled at Harry's opening, found it moist and hot. Quickly, he positioned himself, but hesitated at the last minute.

Harry held onto the bedpost. "Ron, go."

He felt Ron's fingers spread him open, felt the head of Ron's cock push into him, slowly, carefully. The angle at first was all wrong, painful, but Harry shifted and Ron pushed forward, gasping, and suddenly Harry was stretched all around him and they were there, right there.

" _Fuck_ ," he muttered. "That feels _good_ \--"

Ron held still for a moment, his cock long and hot and hard inside Harry. "Harry, are you --"

"I'm good," Harry breathed. "Fucking _hell_ , I'm good, how about you?"

"I need to -- I feel like I need to move --"

"Do it," Harry said, and pushed himself further down on Ron's cock, thrilling at the strangled noise Ron made in his ear.

He covered Ron's hand where it had gone still on his erection, urging him to resume as Ron slowly pulled out of him and pushed in again. They thrust and stroked together, sloppy and without rhythm, moving whenever it felt good, and God, it did, Harry thought, his balls tightening at the feel of Ron's hot ragged breath along his neck.

"Harry -- oh --" Ron moaned, and Harry felt his cock pulse, felt it _inside_ , felt the warm rush of heat as Ron came and came and came.

"Faster," Harry muttered, not letting Ron go, their fingers tangled together on Harry's dick. Fire flashed all along his body, coiling up from the base of his spine -- tightening -- ready to burst -- " _Yes_ ," he gasped -- and he hit the peak with a shout.

They flopped onto the bed together, staining Ron's Chudley Cannons bedspread beyond repair. "Bloody hell," Ron breathed, his eyes wide and awed. "That was --"

Harry pinned him with a kiss. "Something I'd like to study together quite often, from now on."

*

The problem with having chased off all the garden gnomes was that there was nothing left to practice on. Harry kicked his heels for the next week or so, bored out of his mind with Wizard's chess and even pickup Quidditch games. Summer was drawing to a close; soon they'd be back at Hogwarts and another year of Merlin knew what would begin. Harry wondered sometimes, in quiet moments before sleep, if he would live to see the next summer. He heard himself and Dumbledore, speaking together in Dumbledore's office a mere handful of months ago: " _Neither can live while the other survives_."

He didn't allow himself to think about who else might not survive.

He knew his restlessness showed. Occasionally he caught Ron watching him over the chessboard, or across the table at meals. His gaze was speculative and appraising, but Harry was equal to the task of meeting it now, and didn't flinch away.

Nightly they would fuck each other in Ron's hot attic room, letting the incoming breeze kiss the sweat on their bodies, not caring if their moans and sounds made their way down the staircase to the other Weasleys, not caring if Mrs. Weasley found Harry's cot unslept in each morning. Harry supposed he could have cast a silencing charm on the room, could have messed up the spare sheets or even slipped between them when they were finished. But he was beyond caring anymore, beyond anything but the sharp pleasure of Ron's hands and Ron's mouth and Ron's cock in the darkness, and in the daytime the endless dragging patience of waiting, waiting for some other opportunity for practice to turn up.

They got their Hogwarts letters with their book assignments. Fingering the envelope, Harry studied the arrogant brown owl that had brought the missives, its curving beak and wide wings tinged with gold. He watched as it took off, and thought about the quickness required to arrest it in flight.

Mrs. Weasley decided, it being somewhat dangerous in wizarding London these days, that she would get their books at Diagon Alley for them. She was gone most of the afternoon. Harry stole away behind the hedge with Errol while Ron and Ginny went for another swim in the pond. By the time Mrs. Weasley came back, he had washed the dirt from his hands and even set the table for supper. She patted his cheek and called him a sweet boy.

After supper when Mr. Weasley noticed that Errol was missing, Harry volunteered along with Ron to go looking for him. "I can at least use my wand to light our way," he said.

"Hey, you ought to _Accio_ Errol," Ron perked.

But as soon as they stepped outside, Harry pushed him against the hedge, snaked his hand inside Ron's trousers and in minutes had him ejaculating in a hot uncontrollable spurt. Ron panted a moment, catching his breath, then reached for Harry.

Harry pushed his hands aside. "Later," he whispered, licking Ron's ear and making him shiver. "Tonight."

*

Harry was awake early the next morning, sliding naked from Ron's bed in the weak morning light. He dressed quietly, then ghosted down the stairs and outside to the shed where Hedwig was perched in the rafters.

She tilted her head at him, watching him with her all-seeing black eyes.

"Come here, girl," he coaxed, and fed her a peck of dried meat from Mrs. Weasley's pantry when she landed on his arm. Hedwig took the treat obediently, turning her head almost all the way round, still watching him.

Mouth dry, Harry eased his wand out of his back pocket. The shed smelled of woodchips and motor oil. Sunlight drifted through the windows on motes of dust.

Hedwig broke eye contact and scratched beneath her wing with her beak. She took no notice of him lifting the wand, aiming it, opening his mouth to cry, " _Imperi_ \--"

"Harry, no!" Ron shouted.

Hedwig took off for the rafters in a glorious flapping of snow-white wings. Harry whirled, furious, and leveled his wand at Ron, standing in the doorway in his pyjama bottoms and nothing else. "Get out of here!"

"No," Ron said again. He stepped further into the shed, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

"Ron, I'm telling you --"

"What are you _doing_ , Harry?" Ron came closer. The sunlight played on his naked skin, showing off the pale vulnerable hairs on his arms and chest. "What have you been doing?"

"You don't understand," Harry choked. "I have to be ready --"

"For what?"

"I have to _mean_ them. They're useless if I don't."

Ron shook his head. "Harry, you don't ha --"

Harry closed the distance between them. He pressed his lips to Ron's, trying to warm his cold shocked mouth, encircled his arms around Ron's unclothed torso and pushed his hips forward --

Ron shoved him away. "Don't --"

Harry tried again, sliding his free hand round to cup Ron's arse, leaning up to tongue Ron's neck. But Ron was taller than him, stronger. He broke free and wrapped his own long arms around Harry, pulling him against his chest, reaching down to knock Harry's wand to the floor.

"Stop," Ron said. "Harry, for fuck's sake, _stop_."

Harry struggled, realizing the tight, furious sounds he heard were coming from his own throat. The anger surged and crashed -- he saw Sirius falling, Bellatrix laughing, saw her broken body and the doorway silent and empty before them. He pummeled Ron's chest with useless fists, skin against naked skin, sobbing, "I can't, oh, God, I don't know if I _can_."

Ron held him tighter, trapping Harry's fists between them. "You can," he murmured. "You can if I help you." And he clasped one strong, big hand at the back of Harry's neck, holding him close.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and criticism welcome.


End file.
